


Four-Handed

by aldiara



Category: Imagine Me & You (2005)
Genre: F/F, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-16
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study in hands.</p><p>For Alsha</p><div class="center">
  <p>~~~</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Four-Handed

Luce’s hands are slender but strong, an earth woman’s hands, with slightly knobby knuckles and dry skin. She keeps her fingernails as short as they’ll go, but there’s often a dark ring of soil trapped behind them anyway, because she can’t always be bothered with gloves. At the end of the day, her hands smell of crushed lavender and baby’s breath, foxgloves and cactus juice, a different bouquet of smells worked into her skin each day; and Rachel can’t wait to dip her nose into the palm of Luce’s hand and breathe deep, drawing out the scents of her day.

~~~

Rachel’s fingers have manicured nails and a clear coat of polish. They’re a business girl’s hands, well-groomed and presentable, with just a subtle side of hipness evidenced by a silver ring on her right thumb. They’re the hands of a girl who’s with it, a girl who’s got things sussed out. Her fingers are ballet dancers, never ceasing to practise; they drum even in idleness, twirling each other in repetitive figures, fiddling with anything that crosses their path. They’re neurotic but lovable hands, and Luce finds herself waiting, breath held, for the moment they finally still, curling inside of hers.

~~~

On Sunday mornings, their hands say hello, wandering up and down and circling each other as they giggle like schoolgirls, tangling the sheets. Luce presses her palms around the sweat-slick curves of Rachel’s body, trying to leave some indelible imprint, while Rachel’s fingers keep dancing on the skin of her back, growing erratic, then fierce, well-trimmed nails leaving marks. Under Luce’s hands, Rachel drops her refinement, scattering like loose soil into curses and gasps, while Luce feels herself growing weightless at the flutter of Rachel’s fingers, pulled up from her roots and lifted into the wide, limitless space of air. 


End file.
